Midnight Project
by skybluebutterfly
Summary: He woke to the sound of steady typing. An AU that features British!Riku and LapClimber!Sora. [RikuSora] with vague mentions of [SephCloud]


Disclaimer: I hate these things with a passion, but here it goes anyway. KH is an awesome series of games, but, unfortunately, I do not own any part of it. There. I wish neither to receive threatening e-mails nor notices from the local courthouse concerning an upcoming lawsuit.

Now I shall dedicate this one-shot to the Amazing Sabrina (sadly, it is pretty much an official title) for no other reason than she would want to gorge her eyeballs out with a spoon because she read slash. Following my rather twisted sense of humor, I consider it amusing.

Here is a _Kingdom Hearts_ AU, featuring British!Riku and Lap-Climber!Sora.

* * *

Midnight Project

A _Kingdom Hearts_ Alternate Universe Fanfiction

"Life is something that happens when you can't get to sleep."

Fran Lebowitz

* * *

He woke to the sound of steady typing. 

The brunet sleepily rubbed his eye with a clenched fist, not yet ready to surrender to consciousness, and attempted to roll back underneath the warm, safe heaven of his beloved blankets. Some moments passed by relatively uninterrupted, save for the unrelenting click-clacking of the keyboard and the occasional frustrated sigh that signaled the inhabitant under the blankets was slightly less than completely satisfied with his wakefulness.

When it became evident that whoever was making those _god-awful_ noises was not going to cease any time soon, and Morpheus was not to reclaim him under his wing, Sleepy shifted so only the top of brown spikes and a single eye emerged from beneath the comforter. The bedside clock proudly pronounced in large, cheery numbers that it was exactly thirty-four minutes and fifteen seconds past two clock in the morning. The chocolate-colored spikes and the eye disappeared back into the embrace of the blankets.

There was a more forceful exhalation of breath this time from beneath the pile of cloth, which was beginning to take the shape of a shifting mountain, its peaks rising and falling in no particular pattern. The typing halted for a brief second before it resumed its original speed.

Eventually, the amazing Shape-Shifting Mountain ended its antics, and Sleepy once again materialized. He blinked, trying to accustom himself to the light emitted from the monitor a few feet away. Sleepy let out another sigh, deliberately loud. The typing did not falter.

He pouted, anything but pleased at the obvious dismissal of his carefully, not to mention cleverly, laid out master plans for the remainder of the evening—_morning_, and, slowly, extracted himself from the mass of fibers, merely to discover himself stuck after only successfully separating his head, shoulders, and left arm from the blankets.

Sleepy was actually a young man who sprouted an uncontrollable hairdo, a heap of brown that shot out in every direction, defying the Laws of Physics like an especially rebellious teenager, and owned brilliant sky blue sapphires for eyes. Said eyes were narrowed in annoyance as of this moment, though their potentially threatening aura was greatly reduced at Sleepy's disheveled appearance and inability to escape the blankets's "wrath." At last, Sleepy—who was becoming increasingly less Sleepy and far more Grumpy by the second—triumphantly broke out of his one-hundred-percent cotton prison with only a few grunts, one colorful choice word, and two minor bruises. He smiled, as if to silently congratulate himself on the stunning feat, before leisurely padding across the soft carpet toward the Typer.

Slender arms gently wound themselves around the exposed neck of Typer, their owner's chin placed above the convenient spot of Typer's right shoulder. The typing continued, but it was no longer a steady, speedy process. Sleepy replaced his chin with a kiss, grinning lazily at the corresponding shiver.

"It's not even due tomorrow."

For the first time, Typer's face was not glued to the monitor as it turned slightly to the right, regarding Sleepy with its peripheral vision. Sleepy realized his victory was not far from his grasp and placed some more choice kisses along the length of Typer's throat. Typer tilted his head to the left, granting the other more access, and released an appreciating moan before he recognized Sleepy's victory. He half-heartedly attempted to shrug the arms off.

"That is beside the point, Sora."

Sleepy, whose real name was apparently Sora, held on tighter to his prize, knowing he was doomed to spend the next ten hours in bed alone under many quilted comforters if he should let go. He whined childishly and nipped on his companion's ear shell as a rather ineffective punishment, since Typer seemed to be anything but discontented by that particular action.

The two did settle down in the end, but in a drastically different position. Sora had somehow climbed onto his companion's lap and earned his head a place against Typer's broad chest. The body below his bucked gently, testing, but Sora's grip on the pale green dress shirt was solid. Sora felt, rather than heard, the sigh. The reversal of their roles amused him greatly.

"Sora, Riku needs to do his work now."

Just to be difficult, the brunet stubbornly held on. "No. He doesn't."

The Typer—Riku—quickly racked his brain for an escape. "I thought you _like_ the sound of typing."

Sora was busy melting his body into Riku's by burying his face as deeply as possible into the other's shirt, but somehow his reply was still heard, "I said it sounds like something productive is getting done." Somehow he had unfastened the top two buttons of Riku's shirt without the use of his hands. Riku's resolve on completing his thesis paper today was rapidly dissolving. "But I don't _want_ to have anything productive done right now." Sora glanced up with a final lick, a mischievous glint in the sapphires. "In fact, I have something terribly _un_productive that we can do in mind…Interested?" Sora noted with additional amusement that Riku's pupils seemed to have dilated and his breaths came out in tiny puffs, just a little bit labored.

"_No_." Alas, it was dreadfully unconvincing.

At Sora's delicately raised eyebrow, Riku cleared his throat and willed his blood to return to the brain and not to…other regions. "I like the sound of typing, because it's soothing. It calms me enough to sleep."

Sora was vaguely disappointed; nevertheless, he played along. "Does that mean you fall asleep while typing up your papers?" He wrinkled his nose cutely, "A real professional, that you are."

"For the record, I have not done that up to date," he paused, "except that one time after Strife's party. But that only happened, because _someone_," there was a pointed glare shot at Sora, who chose at this precise moment to begin a broken whistle of "My Sanctuary" while avoiding any all eye contact, "thought it would be _funny_ to see Sephiroth drunk—"

"And it all worked out perfectly in the end, didn't it?" Sora brightly interrupted, "They started dating—"

"Sora, luv," Riku gave each of Sora's temples a soft kiss, "we found them making out in the wine cellar with Strife suspended two feet off the ground and someone's—" he continued before Sora had a chance to comment, "—I don't want to know _whose_—lacy panties hung above them like a screwed-up mistletoe."

"That's oddly poetic."

"Why, thank you," Riku said dryly, "because, you know, that was exactly what I was after—bloody _poetry_."

For all his sarcastic efforts, Riku was only gifted a smile. "I see there's more substance to you than I had originally thought possible." At Riku's frown, Sora laughed, displaying white teeth, "I know what you want to ask: 'what do you see in me then, Sora dearie?' Well, frankly," a sly wink and a roll of the hips accompanied the next words, "I heard 'British blokes' made fantastic lays." Sora giggled at Riku's blush, "and I wasn't disappointed. Terribly."

"Hey, wait a second now—"

"Care to prove to me otherwise?"

There was another rolls of the hips, and Riku would have given in any other time; however, drastic situations called for drastic measures. Sora asked for it. "I need to finish my work."

That was not the answer Sora had expected, for the brunet sat back and blinked thrice. "…You cannot possibly be serious—"

"So what if I am?"

It was as if a volcano had erupted; Sora broke into a rant. "But I did everything you liked! I'm in your lap like a girl and _everything_! Are you so blind and stupid and-and-and-egotistical being on your social high horse that you think you can just waltz in here, start typing your stupid paper, interrupt yours truly's _beauty sleep_ and still get away unmolested—"

"You're cute when you go on a monologue."

Sora sat back in his seat, which remained Riku's lap, crossed his arms, and glowered. His bottom lip stuck out distinctly in a pout. "For your information, usually a guy get punched in the face if he calls another guy cute. Under any circumstances."

"Fortunately for me, then," countered Riku promptly, "that this bloke," here he lightly pinched Sora's cutely wrinkled nose, "considers this adjective a compliment if—and only if—it came from his beloved boyfriend." He kissed the corner of Sora's lips, which were beginning to form an involuntary smile. "You're cute, Sora." He placed butterfly kisses along Sora's jaw and the curve of the neck; he sucked and nipped at the collarbone and paid special attention to the small dip in Sora's throat. The cute brunet atop of his thighs leaned back to offer more skin. There were several moans, but the individual responsible for them was unidentified. "In fact," Riku continued between kisses, "you're so cute that you would most definitely help bloke out in a _tight_—" he emphasized this with a short buck with his now rather restrictive jeans and earned himself a nice gasp, "—spot for sure."

"Oh, _yesss_." The breathless hiss sent electrical shivers down Riku's spine. Sora was shamelessly grinding now, his…problem as pronounced as Riku's. "I'm so cute and nice and whateverthehellelseyouwantmetobe—" Sora spoke faster and faster until all his syllables were so intricately intertwined it was difficult to understand. He picked up in speed—"faster, faster, faster!"—and Riku had to utilize all of his strength to slow Sora down to an acceptable pace. It wouldn't do if this ended too quickly.

No, it wouldn't do at all.

Fin.


End file.
